Where the sun seldom rose like the south of Antarctic, the skeleton
mourned lacuna in its sombre hideout in apocalyptic dark.
When my Cimmerian soul conjured dreams of quaint springs
for the chaotic backyards of my mind.
And I ran amok amidst the wild shrubs in
the savanna, looking for birds of paradise till
you brushed past my rusty flesh like a holly wreath.
Till the quietest whispers of daybreak,
relentlessly across the nighted Pacific
let my demons fly with yours